


A companion to trees and a song for a friend

by sybilius



Category: Al di là della legge | Beyond the Law (1968)
Genre: Crushing, Daemon lore, Discussion of character deaths, Fluff, Friendship, Get together fic, Homophobia Subtext, Hunting, Lots of aesthetic mostly, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Piano, Tea, Transphobia Subtext, mostly just two Good and Pure people who deserve happiness, moving forward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-15 00:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11794830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sybilius/pseuds/sybilius
Summary: Cudlip's daemon has always set him apart from everyone he's met. Ben makes him feel differently.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, 
> 
> So I've been toying with writing a daemon lore story ever since someone in the Death Note fandom did some most excellent daemon headcanons. This rather serious but still fluffy story comes out of discussions with Bec (cudvac.tumblr) and Ari (ave-arianna.tumblr) on how daemon dynamics work in a modern context. 
> 
> For those unfamiliar with daemons, I've left an explanation at the end of Chapter 1-- I've done my best to introduce the concept through the exposition of this chapter, but some further clarification may be necessary. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this story, I really enjoyed writing it. Daemon lore is near and dear to my heart, and it was a nice change to write a ship that's quite fluffy. (now time to never do that again XD)

The piano is beaten-down, missing a bit of ivory on the keys and has a slight twang and tremor to other keys. It's still mostly in tune, or it at least sounds that way to the tentative player feeling out chords. 

Cudlip only noticed the dusty old instrument in the corner of the saloon a few days ago. His daemon, Silas, is prowling gently about the room, keeping him aware of anyone who might come in. It’s early morning and most of Silvertown is either asleep or at the mines. But it's not bad, having only his canine other half for company. 

He's long since gotten used to it. 

“What do you think, Silas?” He shapes his fingers around three familiar notes, the suggestion of a melody.

“I think Silvertown should be fine for half an hour, we haven't seen any out of towners since Burton.”

“Yeah,” Cudlip hits on a particularly melancholic chord when he remembers the last time he played, Preacher had made fun of him for his choice of melody, “but what do you think of the tune?”

“Come off it, Cud, just play. We both know you ain't that good or that bad,” Silas has a craggy growl to his voice that often unsettles people. Or it might be just the obvious mismatch, a man with a woman’s daemon. That’s what they say. 

“Alright,” he picks a tune that Samson would ask for, those late nights at the saloon after a successful job. It’s got a nice optimistic lilt to it, despite the heavy memories on every keystroke. 

“Oh that one, you old fool. What are you doing with ancient history like that.”

“Three months ain't ancient history, Silas,” 

“That's the problem,” he growls, “It's no time to get all worked up.”

“Oh, be quiet, you,” it only hurts a little to hear it, the honky-tonk style rag only slightly slower than it ought to be played. Samson liked to dance, with more or less anyone. He'd often get a beautiful woman, spin her around while Preacher watched on jealously. But he'd take fewer to bed than Preacher, preferring to stay late scribbling small drawings or watching the desert moon with Kelsa perched on his shoulder. Cudlip often wondered if his flighty nature was revealed by her quick little robin wings - - but then again. 

People make all kinds of assumptions based on your daemon. 

“Someone’s here,” Silas pads across the floor, Cudlip’s fingers slip off to silence. 

“That's a bit rude, isn't it?” the bird has a melodious, tenor voice and bright blue and yellow wings. He cocks his head at Cudlip, then down to Silas, as if expecting someone else, “Oh. Hullo.”

“Be nice, Jaorlan,” Lola, the songbird herself, slips out of the back in her everyday dress, a more modest gown and a tired smile on her face. 

“Miss Lola,” Cudlip nods his head respectfully. He hasn't spoken with her in person much. The saloon is a tough place for him to go, seeing as most of them look the same. Too many scenes from another life. 

“You're not a bad hand at that, Sheriff. Deputy out watching for trouble?”

“Ain't got no deputy, Miss Lola. But John keeps an eye on Tuesdays, and he don't mind if I nip out for a bit.”

“Things have been quiet lately,” Silas adds, “Good for healing.”

“For all of us,” Lola nods soberly, “I'm glad to hear.” 

“Change in Silvertown, but not all of it bad, hmm?” Jaorlan chirps. Cudlip gets the sense that bird watches and knows more than he lets on. 

“Silas aside, I uh. Don't believe we’ve met,” Cudlip tries to address the sharp-eyed bird on the piano edge. It's a politeness when meeting someone, to at least learn the name of their daemon. Talking to daemons isn't as natural for him as it should be. Luckily it's not expected on a regular basis. 

“Jaorlan.” he blinks his jewel - black eyes once, then turns away, lilting a bit of a tune. He makes a good companion to Lola’s act, when they harmonize and he flits about the room from daemon to daemon. 

“Nice to meet you,” Silas hops up on the piano bench to look Jaorlan in the eye proper. Cudlip strokes his fur soothingly. Silas has been known to start fights with other daemons a little too easily. 

“A pleasure to meet you as well,” Jaorlan sings, keeping up the tune.

“Oh don't be such a showoff,” Lola beckons the bird to her shoulder. 

“Never seen a bird that bright before, or with that pretty a voice,” Cudlip admits, smiling good-naturedly. Jaorlan preens, evidently easily flattered.

“Oh, that'll go straight to his head. He's a blue-winged mountain tangar.”

“Mountains, huh?” 

“Might be my Swiss heritage. Can't say I've ever visited,” she purses her lips at Silas, unsure whether to ask for his name. Silas doesn't smile. He never was one to make things easier. For either of them. 

“He's a coyote, hmm?”

“Half coyote, half dog. Just like me.” 

“He is like you,” she hesitates for a moment. The point at which people usually ask, or just state something about the oddness of it, or say they have a cousin, or just. Sit with the silence of it. 

It's almost heading towards that when the door of the saloon opens for a regal but friendly red fox, and the well-dressed man who she belongs to. Cudlip smiles before he can stop himself, and Ben, well. Of course, he smiles like the sunshine back. 

“Hullo, Cud, Miss Lola. Hope I'm not intruding,” Ben’s eyes widen slightly when he sees Cudlip at the piano, “Oh, that's wonderful, Cud - - were you going to play?”

“Should have mentioned I was gonna but - - it was a little ….I didn't plan it, neither,” Cudlip grimaces slightly, but Ben just nods. 

“Do you mind if I listen?”

“I don't, Ben,” And there's truth in that, too. Things are easier when Ben is close by. Something about the quiet, gentle way he keeps things calm. 

The shock of butterflies in Cudlip’s stomach when he looks at him is a nice distraction too. 

“Silas,” Ben nods to him when he comes to say hello to Sirenja. That's another thing that Ben does that makes him smile, though it's not uncommon for close friends to greet each other’s daemons. It's a small thing, the kind of thing that Silas would bother him about being a little too pleased about, fool that he was. 

Well, if it weren't for the fact that Silas and Sirenja got along so well. 

“Uh. This one is my favorite, or one of em,” he doesn't look at Ben as he finds the keys for the upbeat waltz. Preacher had liked that one as well, said it wasn't bad for finding a good woman. That maybe Cudlip should get out there and find one. He always laughed it off. 

But it's easy to underestimate the skipping feeling of excitement having Ben’s careful gaze at his fingertips. The song he knows as easy as breathing by now, which means he can glance up to smile at Sirenja and Silas saying hullo, tails wagging. He makes the mistake of turning up to look at Ben and almost misses a chord at the twinkle in Ben’s eye.

You’d think four months would be enough to make this better, not worse. Not that it’s an unpleasant worse, quite the opposite. Much like the burst of warmth when his fingers find the waltz’ promenade. Against his better judgement, Cudlip entertains what it would be like to dance with Ben. He seems like he ought to be far better at waltzing than Cud’s clumsy quickstep. But then again, it can be easier if someone else takes the lead on these matters. 

He does falter a chord, thinking about Ben’s hand gently at his back. “Damnation.”

“It’s alright, Cud, it sounds great,” he leans back in the chair opposite the piano, “You know how to waltz?”

He does have to stop playing then, his heart jumping to his throat at the thought, “Yup. You’re not a bad hand at dancing, neither. Seemed like fun.”

“Well, hopefully you’ll get a chance to, next time,” Sirenja has a low, soothing voice, though she tends to let Ben do the talking. That's probably part of why her and Silas get along so well. 

Jaorlan chirps excitedly over to Sirenja, perhaps seeing an opening to say hullo. Sirenja simply nods serenely at him but instead murmurs something to Silas. 

“Quite close, hmm?” Jaorlan snips jealously to Lola. He’s very bold, for a daemon. Cudlip blanches slightly, not quite knowing how to take disparaging comments from a woman, or her jealous daemon. Ben takes it in stride.

“They must be tired,” Ben waves to Sirenja, a smile on his lips, “We’ve had a few late nights with some paperwork for the house.” 

“Oh that's right, finally got the place up, have you?” Lola shushes Jaorlan, standing up and brushing her dress. She’s at least polite.

“Yes,” Ben’s smile could charm anyone, “It's my hope that Cud finds a home soon, as well. An inn is all well and good for a traveler, but not for a sheriff.”

“I'll get to it, Ben,” Cudlip murmurs, trying to keep the frown from spreading across his face. It’s not that he isn’t happy for Ben, putting aside his own feelings is something he’s long learned to abide by. But the last few months it’s made it easier, keeping him close. They don’t talk much about the blood on their hands, but it makes breathing easier to be with someone who knows. Or at least someone who knows why breathing gets hard sometimes, and can sit with it.

Cudlip suspects that’s most of what Sirenja and Silas talk about, quietly murmuring by the fire. But he doesn’t ask. Not yet.

“Well it was wonderful to see you both, and I wish you luck with the move. If you’ll excuse me,” she tilts her head and takes her leave, only glancing back once at the two daemons.

Cudlip tries not to let himself believe there’s any distaste in it. 

Ben, at least, doesn’t seem to mind at all, turning his smile back to Cudlip just like always,“There was something I was meaning to ask you.”

Cudlip’s breath catches in his throat, the awkwardness of Lola’s exit momentarily forgotten. He mentally wills himself to calm down, “Sure, Ben. What’s on your mind?”

“I learned there’s a forest not far from here, just under a half day’s ride. There’s game, too. If you can get time to go out for a few days-- it’s safer to go with a partner. And it’s a lot of fun.”

That question doesn’t do much for his calm. Out of the corner of his eye, Cudlip watches Silas’ ears perk up, even if the rest of him remains impassive. A trip with Ben, perhaps one last chance to feel as close as they do now before they no longer share mornings and evenings in the same small space. It seems almost too good to be true. He clears his throat.

“Haven’t really hunted much for sport. So I might not be much good.”

“I don’t believe in hunting for sport. So we’ll only shoot what we can carry, and cook what we shoot. I know how to prepare and slaughter the animals just as well, though the weather is a little under-frost. And what we don’t eat, we can share among friends in Silvertown.”

“I’ve done rabbit before, but never--”

“It’s alright if you don’t want to, Cud--”

“No, I want to,” Cudlip locks eyes with Ben, his heart beating in his throat, “Really. Nothing I’d rather do.”

“Alright,” Ben nods, a tentative smile playing on his lips.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Silas nudges Sirenja with his nose, “That’s. Kind of you.”

“No one we’d rather hunt with, either,” she cocks her head towards Cudlip, “If you’re nervous, it’ll be alright. I’ll teach you what I can. It’s in my blood.”

“We both will.” 

Cudlip nods gratefully, unable to find the right words. But music might say what he means, “Thanks. Do you have time for one more tune? This one uh. It was Preacher’s favourite.”

“Nothing I’d rather love to hear.”

Cudlip finds the schmaltzy first chord with a slight heaviness in his chest, a strange lightness in his heart. It’s a terribly sappy love song, a gambler in love. God knows why Preacher liked it. But perhaps, with Ben’s eyes still flickering over to his hands as he strokes Sirenja slowly -- perhaps Cudlip can understand a little bit of why. 

When he finishes the tune, Ben smiles and claps in the empty saloon. Cudlip stands, takes off his hat to do a small half-bow and wonders if he dares hope to hold on to this moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes on Philip Pullman's daemons and the discussions that led to daemon interpretations in this story:
> 
> Daemons are animal companions meant to represent the 'inner voice' that show up in the Golden Compass trilogy. They are real creatures that can talk to their masters and intereact with other daemons. Much like the way one feels one does not always know oneself, a daemon can know things that you do not. A daemon is loosely representing the Jungian anima/animus, and thus a daemon most often is the "binary opposite" gender to your own in the Philip Pullman canon. I'll note that Pullman does give mention to the idea that some folks have same-gender daemon, and I think he intended for those to be queer-coded characters. 
> 
> The Golden Compass, etc. was written before modern gender identities were in the public eye. From discussions with friends and my own self-reflection, we decided that a daemon has whatever gender one believes would be the best companion for them. Discussion of Ben's daemon in the next chapter are ones that come from my personal interpretation of my own daemon. Daemon gender can sometimes say something about sexual, romantic, or gender identity, but that's not a hard and fast rule. It's best not to make assumptions in this universe, just as it is in ours :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains discussions of gender, homophobia, etc. It isn't meant to be representative globally, just a story told between two characters who have to face certain things because of who they are. I guess I want to say I didn't write this to be representation, but it worked out that way anyways. I hope that it's enjoyable, and that as a cis bisexual person writing it at least doesn't feel horribly wrong. 
> 
> This will....probably be the only time I try to write pure representation, because, well. It DOES suit them :)

The ride takes them out to the foot of the looming mountains, so tall that Cudlip can see the glimmer of the winter’s snow at their peak. He strokes Julius Caesar ’s neck gently, though Silas nips at his shoulder to remind him that they’re the ones out of place here. 

Cudlip has spent most of his life skulking about desert towns, which suit Silas far better. Sirenja seems wholly in her element here, once 

they've stepped down from the horses at the forest’s edge. She darts from tree to tree and sniffs, occasionally making a comment to Ben in his native tongue. 

“Well, I'll be darned,” Cudlip pulls Julius Caesar to a halt, eyes focused on the bright red flowers blooming wild in a patch on the leaf-strewn forest floor. Unable to stop himself, he drops the reins and darts over to look at them, Silas beside him. 

They don't smell like much, but their color is a sight to see at this time of year. He plucks one, letting his wonderment get the better of him before he remembers he's not alone.

“Christmas rose. Hellebore,” Ben’s smile brings a warmth to Cudlip’s chest, despite the chill, “Let’s see.”

“Never seen anything like it before,” Cudlip mumbles, trying not to think too much about the warmth of Ben’s fingertips, grazing his to turn up the petals gently. 

“We have something like it back home,” Ben drops his hand and turns back to calm his horse, seemingly unaware of the fact they he's just doubled Cudlip’s pulse. 

“Carry it in your hat, Cud. That's right. Looks fetching,” Sirenja blinks her dark brown eyes as Cudlip slips the hat back on his head, cheeks pinking slightly.

“Sirenja is right, Cud. It suits you.”

From any other man, that would have been a thinly veiled jab, something that would set Silas to growling. Ben makes it seem complimentary. Cudlip tries to hide his blush, wondering how the flower looks. Puts a lightness in his step, in any case. 

Sirenja leads with tracks in the damp, slightly rotten leaves. It's chillier than Cudlip expected, even with Ben’s warning to bring warm clothes. He tugs the rabbit fur hood closer to him.

“There's certainly game here,” her low voice is serene in the whistling pines, “And from the smell of it, we can camp here to stay just afoot of it enough that curiosity will bring it back. There’s decent berries here for deer.”

“Thank you, Sirenja. Do you mind helping me look for wood, Cud?”

Building up a small camp takes most of the daylight left. But before long the burlap tent Ben packed is set next to a pile of freshly chopped wood and a cheery fire, if hissing slightly from the new wood. The sun has dipped behind the mountains, but there's still light yet.

Cudlip takes a sip of the tea Ben brewed for after dinner, glancing across the forest floor to a large rock where Silas and Sirenja are perched, apparently deep in conversation. He casts his gaze across the fire to Ben, letting his eyes linger as long as he dares. 

“This tea is good. Thanks, Ben.”

“Oh you're quite welcome. Always nice on an outdoor evening,” he follows Cudlip's gaze back to the daemons on the rock, “What do you suppose Silas and Sirenja are talking about?”

“He doesn't tell me, much. Her too?”

“They’re not talkative,” Ben inclines his gaze to the flame, teeth worrying at his lip. He looks like he's got something to say, but is stuck on how to say it. Cudlip knows how he feels, then bites his own tongue for thinking that way.  

Ben turns to him, kind but suddenly intense, “You had enough people to talk to, in Silvertown? I know it hasn’t been easy since losing your friends.”

“I like talking to you, Ben.”

“But you have other people you talk with? You and John get on alright?”

“Oh sure, I think he's used to me, now,” Cudlip works another log in the fire, thinking about the former sheriff’s initial discomfort. He might have sensed Cudlip was a little rough around the edges, came from crime before. Or it might have been Silas. In any case he's decent company now, and is happy to watch the office from time to time. 

“What’s to get used to?”

Cudlip frowns a moment, “Well, uh.”

“Never mind, actually. That was a silly question.”

“He warmed up to me when he found out what happened with Burton. Whole town did really.”

“I'm glad,” Ben smiles a little wistfully, glancing up to where Sirenja and Silas are watching the sunset. 

“And you're alright, in Silvertown?”

“Sure, got a good job, regular place to stay. I'm on the straight and narrow, y’know.”

“I know, Cud, but are you happy?” his gaze seems more intense in the firelight. Cudlip blinks, realizing that he's never been asked that question. Or at least not so directly.

“Sure I am. It's different but. I'm getting used to it. Don't worry so much. Are you happy?"

“Yes,” he says it without hesitation, ice-blue eyes locked on to Cudlip’s, before quickly glancing away, “I'm very happy in Silvertown.”

“I'm glad,” is all he manages. It's just as well that Silas seems to sense his discomfort, since the two daemons return to curl up by the fire, Silas next to Cudlip, and Sirenja’s head resting on Ben’s lap. Neither the daemons nor the humans begin their previous conversation, but Cudlip can tell from the way Silas is curled up that it had a similar weight-- some shared intensity that he's trying not to cast too much meaning on. 

“Should we retire?” Sirenja breaks the silence, the darkness starting to creep up.

“Yes, of course. It will likely be an early start.”

The tent is tight for two, but keeps warm in the chilly night. Cudlip should feel tired from the day’s ride, not to mention chopping all that wood. But his heart is beating fast, trying not to be too aware of the mere half-foot between them.

“Good night, Cud,” Ben has a smile even in his voice as he pulls the blanket over himself. 

“Yes. Good night,” Cudlip stumbles on the last few words, then rolls over to stare at the burlap of the tent wall, rather than Ben. Over time, the soft breathing becomes something soothing and regular. Cudlip rolls onto his back, glancing sidelong at Sirenja’s head resting on Ben’s gently rising chest.

“You ever noticed something, Cud?” Silas rumbles next to him in the gentlest whisper.

“What?”

“Sirenja. Ben always says their name,” Silas’ says it quickly, tripping slightly over his words.

“What do you mean her name?”

“Just ask him.”

“About her name?” Cudlip can't think what Silas means by that but Ben rolls over with a slight mumble and the two of them fall silent. Now that his back is facing Cudlip, he can stare more safely, his eyes tracing the trail of Ben’s spine poking out from the wool blanket. 

Cudlip well knows Ben has made no assumptions about him based on his unusual daemon, but he has to wonder if there's something to that. He thought he'd long given up the dream of settling with a woman, and appearing respectable despite Silas. And then came along Miss Sally, and under Ben’s gaze it really felt like he could have everything he was ever supposed to want. 

He should have known who those feelings were for all along. 

Silas nips at his ear, yes, point taken, and he rolls over and ceases feeling sorry for himself. They're here, and that's enough. A friendship will always have to be enough. 

The next morning it feels right to be content with it, the sunrise sparkling over the frost on the trees. Cudlip smiles to himself as they take care of the horses, ensuring they are still comfortable after the chill of the evening. He frowns slightly when he shoulders the gun, suddenly sharply aware of what they are about to do. 

“Shooting at deer...is it anything like shooting a man?”

“Not at all,” Ben says mildly, “Except in the last moment. When a deer has been hit, it experiences pain the way a man would. But in the sense...there’s no...what’s the word, guilt? No. Accusation. A deer knows not how to blame you for killing them.”

Cudlip thinks of the way Preacher cried and twitched a moment after he shot him, the accusation in Samson’s eyes. His fear must show on his face, because Sirenja’s wide eyes linger on him a moment. 

“Are you going to be alright, Cud, Silas?” 

Silas nods and bumps Cudlip with his head, “We’ll be alright, yeah.”

They set out along the path once the horses are ready, the daemons leading with their hunter’s instincts. Sirenja matches the frost well, fur shimmering red and nose to the trail. She nods at them, and they stay where they are, while she watches, waiting. Cudlip gets the sense there’s a lot of waiting in hunting, and that’s fine by him. 

“She's good at this, isn't she?” Cudlip tries to think how best to bring up Silas ’ confusing hint the night before. 

“Yes,” there’s a tense hesitation in Ben’s voice-- something he’s holding back. Cudlip has to ask him, has to say something under Silas’ watchful yellow eyes.

“Never uh heard a name like Sirenja before. Is it foreign?” Cudlip cringes internally, worrying that might sound stupid, or worse, insulting.

“You mean Czech?” 

“Sure, it’s different. I mean you seem like you like it for her, you both do. So is there um. Anything special about it?” 

Ben pauses, his face shifting in the shadow of the trees. Cudlip glances at Silas to help him, who just looks down to paw at the melting frost. Sirenja is staring desperately at Ben, as if willing him to understand. 

Ben shrugs his shoulders slightly, “I. Well--” 

“I told Silas, Ben,” Sirenja’s voice is suddenly much smaller, much less certain than Cudlip has ever heard it. It tugs somewhere in Cudlip’s chest, makes him want to put up his fists, but against who? The world that makes her seem so small?

Cudlip knows that smallness well. 

“Uh, well. You can tell me too,” he mumbles, then immediately regrets it, “I mean, if you want to, you don’t gotta tell me anything. It’s okay. Really.”

“No, Cudlip -- I … we always wanted to tell you. It’s my fault,” Ben says quietly, “Sirenja… they're… not quite like other daemons. Not like Silas either, but. Unusual.”

He takes a breath, meeting Cudlip’s eyes before continuing, “It isn't that I can say Sirenja feels…female to me, though I've tried and that's what everyone seems to see, without looking too hard. But, well. They're my daemon and we know a little better.”

Cudlip blinks twice, trying to parse what Ben is saying. Silas nips him, and he remembers he should say something, “Uh. What do you mean?”

He tries to smile, nod encouragingly at Ben, who looks somewhere between relieved and desperate. Cudlip’s heart twists. It would feel so natural to put a hand on his shoulder right now, but he well knows that’s selfish. He needs to give Ben time to speak. 

“Here, it's like. The trees, here, the oak and the pine. You couldn't say a thing about whether they’re male or female, and it doesn't matter at all really, those words don't make sense to trees. It's like that with Sirenja. Those words they...never made sense to them. Her isn't their word, they're. Sirenja. Does that make sense?”

It's then that it dawns on Cudlip - - the careful smile that Ben has when he refers to both Silas and Sirenja - - it always seemed strange the, frequency at which he'd group them together. But of course, it was his own private form of acknowledgment.

“That's. That's great, I mean - - is this somethin’ common in Europe, or - -”

“Not exactly. This is something very few people know. Only my sister, and a few others I don't see any more,” Ben’s shoulders are tense, Sirenja now by his side and looking very much like she-- like they would prefer to lie down. Cudlip wishes he knew what to say, but can’t help feeling a little happy, a little bit of kinship with Ben. 

“You could have told me Ben, I would have - -”

“I was worried you'd think I was making fun of you, because of Silas.”

“I wouldn't - -  I would never,” Cudlip doesn't mean to raise his voice slightly, but he can't help it. 

“It's happened before, but I am sorry Cud. I should have known you better than that.”

“Sorry, nothing. It's alright, Ben,” Silas grunts, and Cudlip nods, understanding what Ben means as the initial hurt ebbs away. After all, Silas has gotten into more than a few fights with folks who seemed at first decent to them. Cudlip tries to smile and Sirenja, then at Ben, who manages to wear sadness, uncertainty in a way Cudlip could only describe as heartbreaking. The wind from the mountaintop suddenly chills him. 

“Does it ever --” Cudlip stops, the question seeming silly. 

“Ever?”

“Hurt? That no one knows?”

“Oh. That's a question. I don't think about it much but I suppose it does. But it would be worse if they had to all know, I should think,” Ben inclines his head, a pained expression on his face, “I’ve never asked you, I know. But I can imagine it never was easy for you, a daemon with the same gender as your own. I’ve heard what people say to your face, and some behind your back.”

Cudlip frowns, “People, they just. Don't know what to say.”

“Come off it, Cud, people aren’t all that good and you know that,” Silas growls, “They treat us like there's just got to be somethin’ different about us. Like there's just got to be somethin’ wrong.”

“Eventually you want to prove them right,” Ben murmurs gently. 

“Now what would you know about that?” Silas mutters sharply. Cudlip’s cheeks burn. 

“Silas, shut up - -”

“No, it's alright.”

“It ain't alright,” Cudlip shakes his head and growls for once, not liking Sirenja’s shame now worn on Ben’s face. He steps closer, not caring for a moment what this might look like, only wanting to make Ben understand. 

“It ain't fair to Sirenja, and it ain't fair to both of you having to hide like that,” Cud swallows, praying this comes out right, “But I guess there’s not much to be done about that. And I'm glad you told me. No, I'm lucky you did, thank you both.”

Ben smiles softly for the first time since the conversation began, “Thank you, Cud. That means. More to me than you could ever know.”

There’s a brief and slight flicker in Cudlip’s fingertips when he realizes how close Ben’s body is, how easy it would be to reach out and take his hand. Something feels not quite right, though, perhaps it’s that Silas is uncharacteristically hidden behind him, not saying a word. He reluctantly breaks Ben’s gaze to turn his attention to his daemon. 

“I think I should say sorry. To you and Ben both, Sirenja,”  Silas lowers his head slightly, ears drooping, “I got caught up remembering some things.”

Sirenja steps forward, nudging him with their nose gently, “That's quite alright, Silas.”

“I'm used to fighting. For both of us. Sometimes I wish I wasn't.”

“I'm very glad Cud had you for that,” Ben says seriously.

“I'm glad we don't have to fight as much, in Silvertown,” Silas mumbles, and Cudlip's heart twists when he realizes how long he’s waited to hear that. For both of them. Ben is staring at him, no, is he staring at his lips? Cudlip’s heartbeat doubles, and he inadvertently takes a step back. Then curses himself for doing so, for his errant thought, for how much he wants to act on it, wants to believe Ben is studying him with the gentle blossom of something,  _ something _ different.

“Look,” Sirenja perks her head up for the first time in this conversation, nose pointing towards movement in the distance. Cudlip freezes, as a beautiful doe wanders out from behind a pine, barely within shooting range. 

Both of them take slow steps forward, the rifles loaded and at the ready.

“Do you want me to take the shot?” 

“No,” Cudlip decides all at once. He hasn’t shot since Preacher, and doesn’t want to.

But as a sheriff, he knows. He will have to someday. There’s no avoiding it. 

And he doesn’t want to avoid it, either. 

Cudlip breathes in, feeling Silas beside him, and oddly aware of Sirenja as well. This might be the closest they’ve ever been to him, their tail almost grazing his calf. He breathes out, the shot cutting through the forest’s silence and straight through the doe’s neck. 

It tumbles, the pain in it’s eyes palpable but yet-- as Ben said. There’s no guilt in it. 

Cudlip wonders if it would be more or less melancholic, to live so unaware of any witness. He glances back to Ben, and his heart swells for a moment at the quiet smile worn on his friend’s face. Certainly it would be lonely, if a doe might understand this.

He’s certain that Ben does. 

When they reach the doe after the daemon’s, there’s a slight tension when their eyes meet. As if wondering where to begin the previous conversation, if at all. But Ben shakes his head, reaches for the does’ feet, and says only this:

“You're a good man, Cud.”

“You too, Ben.”


	3. Chapter 3

They take the remainder of the doe to Ben’s house, which is almost completely ready for the move. It’s a pretty, two-bedroom place of wood just outside of the heart of town. There’s already a rocking chair on the front porch, and certain of Ben’s possessions have made their way into the cheery front hall.

Cudlip tries not to pay too much attention to the heavy weight in his chest. 

For the moment, Ben has prepared a clear space in the yard to finish the job. After gutting the doe in the forest, leaving the entrails for scavengers a safe distance away, there’s now the skinning and the division of meat left for them to work through together. 

“You really don’t waste a bit, do you?” 

“My father would have said it would be disrespectful,” Ben is in a strange mood as he works-- Cudlip remembers well the seriousness in his eyes when he shot Samson, the admission that he knew all along that Cudlip had been working against him, and yet. He still gave him a chance.

Cudlip feels like he may never earn that faith proper, but he’s going to try. He’s already killed for it, he realizes abstractly as he carves up the doe’s thigh. Sirenja and Silas stay close, occasionally dragging parts of the doe into piles along the grass. A number of friends have already been promised choice parts of the meat. Silvertown will eat well tonight.

“This is a strange thought,” Ben hesitates over the neck of the doe, running his fingers through a patch unmarred by dried blood, “Do you ever think of certain deaths as...what is the word. Inevitable? Perhaps it’s easier to.”

Cudlip bites his lip. He knows well whose deaths Ben is thinking of. Best to come out with it, “You mean with Samson and Preacher?” 

“Yes. I hope that’s not callous of me to say-- I feel I may have said differently but-- never mind.”

“Nah, I know what you mean. Or I try to,” Cudlip works the knife into flesh without looking up, “I don’t know what to think, I guess. They weren’t good friends that much of the time but. We stuck by each other.  More for the work than anything else, and no one else who really wanted to give us a chance.”

“They never gave you a chance, Cud. Just liked that you were good at it,” Silas growls, and Cudlip is almost surprised. But he doesn’t protest. 

“Samson had good in him. Preacher went after what he wanted and--- we always wanted different things.”

“What did he want, Cud?” Ben has such a gentle, soulful way of asking questions. It’s easy to be honest with him. 

“I feel like they never had a reason to go on the straight and narrow. Or never wanted to.”

“But you always did?”

“You knew that, didn’t you? Busybody. Thinkin you knew what’s best,” Cudlip grumbles to hide his blush, but he knows Ben can tell he’s teasing. 

“I hoped I did, and I was right. I meant what I said about you being a good man.”

“Meant it too,” Cudlip blushes, mumbling the last bit to himself. There isn’t much more he wants to say, and yet. He wants to say so much more. He bites his tongue and instead helps Ben separate the flank from the rest of the meat. 

It takes well into the afternoon to get everything sorted and into an ice box for friends to pick up. But that’s it’s own reward, seeing Sally give a shy wave as her father thanks Ben warmly for his kindness. Then John’s approving nod, saying to take a break from the sheriff work anytime, but that it’s good to have him back. 

It’s a bit of a makeshift dinner since the kitchen in the house doesn’t yet have a stove. But they build a fire outside and cook a nice cut of the meat, just like they had done the night before under the shadow of the mountain. 

The house is comfortable, Silvertown is comfortable, but something about being there was magical. Cudlip hopes to return, someday soon. But for now, there’s work to be done in town. 

And he should enjoy dinner with Ben while he still can. God knows that will be happening less when he moves into the house. In only a few days.

It makes dinner a form of beautiful torture, watching him at the table and basking in the sunshine of his gaze. Cudlip tries to savor it, the way Sirenja and Silas both stay close to each other, almost close enough for Sirenja to touch Cudlip’s leg. The way Ben’s cheeks light up in the lamplight. It’s all so much he can hardly bear it. 

He eats dinner faster than he normally would to distract himself, but is delighted that Ben seems content to sit and chat about the trip, about Silvertown, about everything for hours past dark. By the time the fire is burning low it must be coming on midnight.

“Well, there’s no bed here, so I suppose we ought to head back to the hotel for now,” Ben smiles fondly at Cudlip, passing him his hat. In return Cudlip throws him his thick coat, now discarded now that they’re far from the mountains.

“Oh, you might as well leave that here. It’ll just be back in a few days,” Ben nods, and stops. The sadness must show on Cudlip's face. He clears his throat, tries to smile and brush it off. 

“Right, good thought.” He notices Sirenja cross the floor, brushing their tail against Ben’s leg. 

“Cud. Um. You don’t. We have room here, if you’re not at home in the hotel anymore-- it’s comfortable and - -" he trails off a moment, uncertain.

“What Ben means to ask is whether you'd like to stay with us. There’s another room and we’ve quite gotten used to your company. If you'd like to, you’d be very welcome,” Sirenja's wide eyes blink thoughtfully, more open and honest than Cudlip has ever seen them. 

But then, there's an honesty that Cudlip still hasn’t granted them. Hell. 

I guess he owes Ben enough faith that they can stay friends. 

“Look I’ve gotta say something to both of you too. I know that. You try not to make me feel any different for Silas, and I’m grateful, but,” Cudlip swallows, hard, “Truth is, I am different. I can’t love women the way a man does. It just. It ain’t in me. But men, I. Well. I've been having the kind of feelings I ought to have been having for Sally ever since I met you. For you.”

Ben blinks with an expression Cudlip can only describe as wonderment. Cudlip’s cheeks burn, “So y’see. It wouldn't be fair of me to - -”

He stops short, Ben’s face suddenly mere inches from his, his hand grasping Cudlip’s urgently. 

“Oh Cud. I think I've been such a perfect idiot,” “I was so caught up in what you might think of me, that I didn't want to hope -- what I mean to say is I understand how you feel and I. I feel that way as well.”

“Well. Dammit,” Cudlip blushes furiously, suddenly utterly unsure what to do next. He's never so much as confessed feelings to anyone, much less decided what comes after. He hesitates, swaying slightly but still having hold of Ben’s hand. 

“Would it be alright if I kissed you?” Ben tilts his head fondly, and it's all Cudlip can do to nod. 

Ben's lips are soft-- it's the same and yet so utterly different from any woman he's furtively kissed before. He just pulls Cudlip close, brushes his lips. It's over in a moment that might as well be years. Certainly it feels like years in the waiting. 

He makes a small, overwhelmed noise before burying his head in Ben’s shoulder. Silas and Sirenja are intertwined in a teasing, tentative bundle on the floor. Cudlip can tell Silas is as slightly terrified, profoundly excited as he is. 

“Too much?” 

“That was...terrific. I think I could get used to that. Might need a moment,” He ducks his head up, kisses Ben on the cheek. He feels the need to laugh, or perhaps woop.

“I certainly could,” Sirenja murmurs, and Cudlip does laugh then, deep and ominous but full of joy. 

“We should get back to the hotel, it is still quite late,” Ben’s tone is offhand, but it sends a thrill of fear to Cudlip’s already overwhelmed mind,  “Oh Cud, it's alright. I didn't mean - -”

“I'm not. I've never been with anyone that way before,” Cudlip blushes furiously, and Ben squeezes his hand. 

“It's alright. We’ll go slow. For now, I think we should just sleep. But perhaps you’d like to share the bed with me? Just that. Nothing else,” Ben’s earnest honesty shines in his eyes, finally looking at Cudlip, just like he always has and yet. Completely different. 

“Think that'd be great,” he manages, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt, “You don't worry that people will talk? If I move in, I mean.”

Ben laughs, “Oh, Cud. People already talk. They've been talking since you came to town. But they'll get used to it, like everything else.”

“You're sure?”

“I know Silvertown, but most importantly, I know you. This is the right thing and we both know it. So nothing’s going to stop you, nor Silas, least of all a little gossip. And it's not going to stop Sirenja, nor I.”

It's all Cudlip can do to nod and kiss him again.

Later that night, Cudlip sleeps with Ben’s arm thrown lightly over his chest, their bodies close to fit as if they were made this way. Silas curls in the haven of Cudlip’s chest around Sirenja, who stops every so often to nuzzle Silas’ ear. 

It's quiet, in a way that Cudlip doesn't have a name for. 

He studies Sirenja gently as his eyes droop. Their tail brushes over Cudlip just as sleep finds him, and he feels Ben shiver and mumble. 

“It's alright,” Cudlip whispers, to himself and to Ben, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by gratitude. 

“It's going to be alright.”

**Author's Note:**

> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this, and as always I love to hear thoughts. This story was...a nice one to write. I hope it felt nice to read.


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